slipped back a step, then hurled the useless weapon at his foe. The giant let the stick bounce off his head and slid one foot onto the bridge. The boy turned to flee.
“That’s right,” Tavis whispered. He nocked his runearrow and drew his bowstring to fire. “Get off the bridge.”
The second stone giant rose from behind the ridge ahead and bounded across the meadow, trying to slip between Tavis and his target. The scout kept his gaze trained on Wyvern’s Eyrie, silently beseeching the youth to hurry. His entreaties did no good. He found himself looking into a pair of huge black eyes long before the boy reached the end of the bridge.
“It would be better not to do that.” The giant’s voice was as deep and gravelly as a pit mine. He stooped over, lowering his palm toward Tavis. “Why not give me your toy?”
The scout side-stepped the colossal hand and let his runearrow fly. He saw the shaft sizzle straight toward the bridge, then the giant blocked his view by trying to squash him with a boulderlike fist.
Tavis leaped backward off the bluff, screaming, “Basil is wise!”
If the runearrow exploded, the scout did not hear it. He slammed into a boulder and felt Bear Driller slip from his grasp. His attacker’s fist crashed down on the ridge above, sending a deafening crack across the meadow and spraying shards of bedrock in every direction. The giant twisted his fist back and forth, as a man might grind a fly into the table, and did not seem to notice that his quarry had escaped.
Tavis tried to crawl away, only to discover that he had fallen between two boulders and become lodged in place. He reached past his head to grab a handhold. As he dragged himself free, a jagged knob of stone opened a deep gash in his back. The scout swallowed his pain and continued to pull, his teeth clenched to keep from crying out.
The movement drew the stone giant’s attention. The brute’s rigid face showed no emotion, but he quickly lifted his hand and peered at the crater beneath it.
“Missed,” he observed in a dispassionate voice.
The giant leaned over the bluff to reach for his prey, but could not quite make the stretch. He pulled back and stooped over behind the ridge.
Tavis leaped to his feet and started toward Bear Driller. A huge boulder crashed onto the tundra in front of him. He looked up and saw the giant clambering over the bluff, a second stone in his hand. The scout feinted a dash toward his bow. The stone giant’s arm came forward, but the brute checked his throw.
“It is written that you are a guileful one,” the giant observed.
“Written?” Tavis echoed. He kept his knees flexed, ready to dive for his bow the instant the giant made the mistake of committing to an attack. “Where?”
“In the Chronicles of Stone.” The giant’s gaze flickered to Bear Driller and back to Tavis, and he wisely restrained the impulse to make the first move. “Where do you think?”
“Then you know who I am?” As he spoke, Tavis crouched behind the boulder the giant had just thrown at him. He stretched a hand toward his bow. “I don’t see how you could. There are thousands of firbolgs in the Ice Spires.”
“But few runts.” The giant stepped on the boulder, pressing it into the ground. “And only one who serves the queen of Hartsvale.”
“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” Tavis said. Although he could feel his heart pounding, he remained poised to roll away. “Who are you?”
“I am known as Odion,” the giant answered.
“Well, Odion, what now?” Tavis cast a longing glance toward his beloved bow.
“We will have no more of your tricks.” Odion positioned the boulder in his hand over Tavis. “That will only prolong matters.”
The scout sprang forward and smashed an elbow into the soft spot below Odion’s kneecap. The joint popped and straightened, drawing a deep grunt from above. The giant dropped his stone, but Tavis had slipped between the brute’s legs and was already darting toward the bluff.
“Come Tavis! This isn’t worthy of you.”
Tavis scrambled over the stony ridge without responding. A loud clatter sounded from the other side as Odion gathered up an armful of throwing boulders.
“Only through the grace of acceptance does one triumph over death,” admonished the giant. “In every other aspect your life has been recorded with great esteem. I pray you, do not sully that account with a graceless end.”
Tavis drew his sword. “You may write that I have no intention of ending my story here,” he called, crouching behind the bluff. “Let that decision reflect on my annals as it will.”
The scout crept silently forward, hunched over and staying close to the ridge. After a dozen paces, he judged it safe to glance at Wyvern’s Eyrie. A great starburst of scorched granite now marred the cliff’s silvery face. Nothing remained of the bridge except the ends of splintered logs, with Odion’s partner dangling from one of the stubs by a single hand. The stone giant’s feet scraped madly along the cliff, while his free hand slapped blindly at the ledge above, where the shepherd youth was dodging back and forth, smashing the brute’s fingers with a large stone. The four women had sent the young girls ahead and stopped at the next bridge. Two of them kneeled at each end, working furiously to cut the heavy logs free.
Tavis heard a loud thump behind him and looked over his shoulder. Odion was leaning over the bluff, staring at a boulder he had just dropped where the scout had been earlier. Realizing the quickest way to defeat the giant would be to give him a false sense of confidence, the firbolg jumped to his feet and zigzagged across the tundra as though terrified.
“This is not worthy of you, Tavis!” A boulder sailed past the scout and thudded into the tundra. “It is your time. Face death as bravely as you faced life!”
Tavis changed directions, narrowly dodging a second stone. He hazarded a glance back and saw Odion bracing for another throw, with three more boulders cradled in his arm. The scout darted to one side and slowed his pace. The next ridge was less than fifty paces away, and he wanted the giant close behind when he reached it.
A frightened cry rang out from Wyvern’s Eyrie. Still darting and weaving, the scout looked up to see the giant’s free hand close around the shepherd boy. In the same instant, the four women came charging down the trail with a heavy log under their arms. They rammed it into the stone giant’s head, and the brute fell away, still holding the shepherd youth in his hand. He disappeared behind the ridge ahead, then a terrible crash shook the meadow.
Odion hurled two more stones. One passed so close to the scout’s sword that the steel blade tinkled like a wind chime. Tavis changed directions and heard one more boulder thump down behind him. He glanced back and saw that his pursuer had no more rocks in his arms.
“Surely, now you will concede to the inevitable,” Odion called. Despite a pronounced limp, the giant’s long strides were quickly closing the distance between him and Tavis. “Even you cannot hope to escape two of us.”
Tavis could only guess what his looming foe saw on the other side of the ridge, at the base of Wyvern’s Eyrie. Odion’s partner was probably shaking off the effects of his long fall. It would take more than a hundred-foot drop to kill a stone giant.
The scout headed directly for the bluff. Odion caught up in three strides and stooped over to grab his quarry. Tavis threw himself into a forward roll and returned to his feet five paces shy of the ridge. He pumped his legs hard, bounding toward the bluff as swiftly as a stag.
“There is nowhere to go,” Odion said. “Accept your fate.”
The shadow of the stone giant’s hand crept over Tavis. The scout leaped into the air and braced his feet against the side of the bluff, then sprang back toward Odion.
Tavis landed almost exactly where he had intended, requiring only one quick step to place himself beside his foe’s leg. He swung his sword hard, then felt a sharp snap as his blade sliced through the delicate tendons behind the giant’s knee. Odion bellowed, and his leg buckled. He pitched forward, his huge body folding over the bluff like a corpse over a saddle.
The firbolg grabbed a handful of bloody flesh and pulled himself up Odion’s leg. The pain-stricken giant did not react until Tavis started to climb his back, and by then it was too late. When the brute tried to turn over, the scout placed the tip of his sword between two ribs.
